Glass Bones and Paper Skin

Nursing home upon a hill Withdrawn and still Beckoning Strong scents of pee and must Of hair and dust Of fear and rust Fading distant memories Of golden leaves And buzzing bees The gentle touch of evening’s breeze How time’s swift chase has stolen these And turned its youthful song to groans This shrouded home My dreams it owns Of feeble moans and limbs too thin Glass bones and paper skin